


A Candle in the Window

by StarduskRose



Series: Borderlands [2]
Category: Borderlands (Video Games)
Genre: Graphic Description, Self-Harm, Trigger Warnings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-18
Updated: 2021-01-18
Packaged: 2021-03-16 21:28:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28837797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarduskRose/pseuds/StarduskRose
Summary: “Bear with each other and forgive one another if any of you has a grievance against someone. Forgive as the Lord forgave you.”
Series: Borderlands [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2111604
Kudos: 2





	A Candle in the Window

**Author's Note:**

> I promise to write more happy stuff in the future.

Back on Pandora to the scorching, excruciating sun. Time had passed quickly, almost like a speeding train for Mordecai. But home didn't even truly feel like home. There was a feeling of emptiness. A feeling he hadn't ever felt before. It pulled and ripped through him. Worse than any bullet that's ever passed through him.

Unlike a bullet hole, the piece that was missing could never heal. 

He looked up at Bloodwing's statue. It was tall, grey, and lifeless. What was supposed to be a symbol of remembrance only haunted him. The last sound he ever heard from her was a cry of sheer pain. Every memory poked around his addled brain. Each one itching and roaming around. 

There were moments he relished. Hunts in the wild for skag. Moments he would infiltrate Hyperion property. Every notch he racked up on his rifle, and every time he saw Bloodwing in action eagerly carved a grin across his face. 

Those moments were washed away by guilt. If he hadn't been so focussed on his objective. None of this would have ever happened. What more could he do though? More. No.. He had done his best. His best to protect her. He'd never kept her in a cage. Or raised his voice at her. He treated her like she was everything to him. And, most certainly, she was. 

\---

The funeral was dark. Depressing. Nothing out of the ordinary for those you love. Everyone shed a few tears. But for some reason, Mordecai was silent. His remained unresponsive and drained until he returned to his room in Sanctuary. 

The bed was, for the most part, unoccupied. There were a few whisky bottles scattered on the floor. Tired, hungry, and completely drained of any motivation, he felt defeated. 

The last time he had felt truly independently defeated was when he had arrived on Pandora. Being completely beaten senseless by bandits and left for dead was just as much how he felt right in that very moment. 

Tossing and turning, he could hear Jack's voice in his head. He taunted Mordecai, and he kneaded at the bed sheets, unable to control himself anymore. His emotions held him up against a wall and each took turns with him, cutting into him like razor blades. 

Feeling numb, and lost in his own thoughts, he let out a pleading cry. Crying to something. To someone. Lying on his back, he felt a stream of tears drip from his jaw. He hadn't realized he was sobbing. 

Hoping to God that he didn't truly wake anyone up, he reached for a half empty, lukewarm bottle of whisky. Taking a long swig, he set the bottle down and stared up at the ceiling. 

He didn't choke..

The whole room was dark. Mordecai sat up slowly so his back was mostly arched forward and lit a candle. The flame licked his thumb, and briefly, he felt a surge pass through him. 

The skinny man pulled himself up more, dipping his finger into the melted wax. The heat stung and soothed him for a moment. A quiet groan left his lips as they quivered. The candle continued to burn. 

The light was the only thing he kept his eyes on. Somehow, it was helping him forget whatever dread thoughts were lingering. But every time he took his finger away to wipe the dry wax away, they seemed to come back. The candle seemed to go down more quickly than he expected. Each and every time his finger was dipped into the wax, it seemed to grow closer and closer to the flame. 

It was then he had felt the pain Icarus endured when he had flown too close to the sun, being disgusted at the thought of how that related back to his own risks, unfortunately burning a certain someone else's wings. 

The heat touching his skin again caused his hand to burn. He gasped harshly, but kept his hand still, letting it burn until it became a light red shade. 

Taking his hand from the flame, he reached for a roll of bandage. Delicately wrapping his hand, he felt it sting and pain for a few minutes. Eventually, he ignored it and sunk into his mattress, the flame now out from the lack of wick keeping it lit.

Finally, at some state of mild peace, he let himself go into a mild sleep.


End file.
